Chapter 1 The Quest of the Missing Map by Carolyn Keene
The Haunted Studio
Golden hair flying in the wind, Nancy Drew ran up the porch steps and let herself into the front door of her home. The voice of Hannah Gruen, the housekeeper, plainly reached her from the back of the dwelling.
“Why don’t you tell your mysterious story to Nancy?” she heard the woman say to someone. “She’s the very person to help you.”
The girl dropped the books and portfolio she was carrying onto a sofa.
“Hello, I’m home,” she announced.
Nancy could not imagine to whom the housekeeper had been speaking. Her curiosity had been aroused, however, and the mere mention of a mystery quickened her pulses.
“Oh, it’s you, Nancy!” Mrs. Gruen said, coming forward with a dark-haired, blue-eyed girl of about twenty.
“Art school was dismissed fifteen minutes early,” Nancy replied.
Her gaze fell upon the housekeeper’s attractive visitor who smiled in a friendly manner.
“This is Ellen Smith,” Mrs. Gruen introduced quickly. “You’ve frequently heard me speak of her.”
“Yes, indeed.” Nancy spoke heartily as she responded to Ellen’s greeting. “Our good housekeeper was with your family before she came here, I believe.”
“I was always sorry she left us,” said the caller, “but when Mother and Father returned from their trip around the world, Mother took charge of our home herself.
“Father has suffered some serious financial reverses,” the girl continued. “More recently he has become crippled through an automobile accident.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Nancy sympathetically.
“Ellen has been telling me that she has been offered a summer position here in River Heights,” spoke up Mrs. Gruen. “If she takes it the salary will go a long way toward paying her tuition at Blackstone Music College.”
“Do you study piano?” Nancy asked Ellen with increasing interest.
“At present I am taking vocal lessons, although I play the piano also.”
“Ellen has a lovely voice,” Mrs. Gruen interposed. “A few weeks ago she sang over the radio, and her teacher encourages her to devote all her time to music.”
“If only I could!” the student murmured wistfully. “But already I’ve borrowed money and I’m worried about how I shall pay it back,” the girl went on, her pretty face drawing into a pucker of concern. “I want to take the position because it pays very well, but the place and the people have an air of mystery about them. I’m afraid I won’t be able to get along with Trixie.”
“Who is she?” inquired Nancy curiously.
“Oh, Trixie is Mrs. Chatham’s seven-year-old daughter. I’ve never met the child but I understand she’s hard to manage.”
“Your task would be to look after her?”
“Mrs. Chatham wants me to live there and give Trixie piano lessons. The mother is a strange person, a widow, and trying at times.”
“Surely you’ve heard of her, Nancy,” the housekeeper interrupted. “She owns that estate called Rocky Edge along the river.”
“Yes, I know the place.”
“I am to call on Mrs. Chatham today,” said Ellen, “but I dread going alone. I really stopped in here to see if Hannah Gruen would go with me.”
“Why not have Nancy go with you?” the woman asked thoughtfully. “She’s had a great deal of experience in judging people. If she thinks it is all right for you to take the position, I am sure it will be.”
“I’ll be glad to go,” Nancy said at once.
She was eager to be of assistance, and rather looked forward to meeting the wealthy and eccentric Mrs. Chatham.
“I don’t like to put you to so much trouble,” Ellen protested. “All the same, I’ll be glad to have you with me.”
“You’re not afraid of Mrs. Chatham?”
“Not exactly. I shall try desperately to get along with her and Trixie. I love children and like to work with them. At Rocky Edge I’ll have time to practice my own music. I understand there’s a small music studio on the estate.”
As the two girls were about to leave the Drew house, Mrs. Gruen suggested to Ellen that she tell Nancy about the other matter they had been discussing. At once the Drew girl was reminded of the words she had heard when she entered the house. Something about a mystery!
“It has to do with a map and a buried treasure,” said Ellen, stepping into the car.
Nancy was to be disappointed about learning anything more, however, and though her curiosity piqued her, she would not think of prying further into the other’s secret. Ellen turned the conversation toward the two girls’ interest in art; one of them in music, the other in drawing.
“What are you specializing in?” she asked Nancy.
“Drawing figures and faces,” replied Nancy. “As a child I always filled in the o’s on magazines and newspapers with eyes, nose, mouth and ears, so I guess Dad thought it might be a good idea if I should turn my diddling to good account!” she laughed.
The car sped to the outskirts of the town, then turned into a shady road. Nancy presently drew up near a sign which read Rocky Edge, and drove slowly toward the house. It proved to be a large, old-fashioned place, half-hidden from the road by masses of high, overgrown shrubs. A curving drive led to a pillared porch.
“It’s rather creepy here, isn’t it?” Ellen remarked nervously, as they left the car.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Nancy responded. “No trimming has been done on the grounds, but that gives the place atmosphere.”
“I could do without it myself,” Ellen said a bit uneasily.
She went ahead of Nancy, pressing her finger on the doorbell. Almost at once the door was flung open, and the two astonished girls found themselves facing Mrs. Chatham’s daughter Trixie.
“I don’t know what you’re selling!” the child cried. “Whatever it is we don’t want any! So go away!”
“Just a minute, please,” Nancy interposed. “We came to talk with your mother about Miss Smith giving you music lessons.”
Trixie’s dark eyes opened wide as she stared first at Nancy, then at Ellen. She wore her hair in two long braids, and her short dress made her thin legs seem mere spindles.
“I don’t want anyone to teach me!” the child exclaimed. “There are too many now. If another one comes, I’ll—I’ll run away.”
“Trixie!”
Mrs. Chatham, a stout woman dressed in a flashy red and white silk dress, had come to the door. Seizing the child by an arm, she pulled her away from the door. Then as Trixie began to whimper, she said contritely:
“There, my pet, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Ellen introduced Nancy, and Mrs. Chatham graciously invited the girls into an elegantly furnished living room. She began a lengthy account of her daughter’s shortcomings, unmindful that the child was listening to every word.
At the first opportunity Nancy arose from her chair and asked Trixie to show her the grounds. She was a little puzzled by Mrs. Chatham’s critical attitude toward her child. Always eager to help others, the Drew girl at once decided to try to determine the reason for Trixie’s behavior. She smiled at the little girl, told her a few stories, and soon had her laughing gaily.
“I wish you were going to be here instead of that other girl,” Trixie announced abruptly as they walked along a shady path. “I like you.”
“You’ll like Ellen too,” Nancy assured her. “And I’ll come to see you sometimes.”
“All right. But I hope she won’t try to boss me like the others do. No one can manage me!”
“I’m afraid you’ve heard your mother say that so often you believe it,” Nancy laughed. “Now let’s forget about being naughty. Suppose you show me the grounds. Shall we go first to that little house?”
Through the trees at a spot overlooking the river she could see the red roof of what appeared to be a tiny cottage. To her surprise Trixie held back.
“I won’t go there! No, no!”
“Why not, Trixie?”
“Because the place is haunted, that’s why!”
Nancy gazed at the child in astonishment, believing that she must be joking. But Trixie was not joking. Her freckled face was tense with anxiety.
“I wouldn’t go inside the Ship Cottage for anything!” she said.
“The Ship Cottage?” Nancy repeated. “Is that its name?”
“It’s what I call it. Please, let’s go the other way.”
Trixie tugged at Nancy’s hand but could not make her turn in the opposite direction.
“I’m sure there’s no reason why you should be afraid,” Nancy said kindly. “If you won’t come, then I shall go alone. I’ll prove to you that the place is not haunted.”
“Please don’t go there,” the child pleaded frantically. “You’ll be sorry if you do.”
“What makes you so afraid of it?”
The little girl would not answer. Jerking free, she raced in the opposite direction.
“Poor child,” thought Nancy, shrugging. “I do feel sorry for her.”
Not for a moment did she believe that there was any basis for the child’s fears regarding the so-called “Ship Cottage.” Because she knew that Trixie would watch from afar, she walked slowly down the path to the quaint little white house. The door was unlocked and Nancy let herself in. She beheld a dusty but otherwise pleasant room lined with many shelves of books. At once her gaze traveled to several ship models which were placed on the mantelpiece above the fireplace and on many articles of furniture.
“So that’s why Trixie calls this place ‘Ship Cottage,’ ” she thought, examining one of the finely made models. “It’s really a sort of studio.”
Nancy replaced the tiny vessel on the mantel and crossed the room to seat herself at an old grand piano. The ivory keys had turned yellow and cobwebs festooned the mahogany case.
“It’s probably badly out of tune,” she mused, running her fingers over the bass keys.
Not a sound came from the instrument. Nancy gasped in astonishment, and played a series of chords. Although the keys were depressed, the piano gave forth no sound.
“Well, of all things!” she exclaimed. “What can be the matter?”
She bent to examine the pedals to see if the piano had a spring lock which prevented the strings from being struck. She could discover nothing of the kind.
As Nancy straightened she thought she heard a sound behind her. At the same moment she caught a reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. The sight sent icy chills racing down her spine.
Unmistakably a wall panel behind her had slid open. Even at this moment cruel eyes were watching her every move.
“Leave here at once and never come back!” came a hissed, rasping whisper.